Taking Care of Family

The cold dark water lazily lapped over the black rocks that made up the coastline. Playing the soft song of the waves rolling ashore before receding. In the fog of the early morning, there was a sense of seclusion. Wrapped in a world where nothing existed but the stony beach and the cold water.
It’d have been peaceful. Beautiful. Were it not for the large, loudmouth, tattooed annoyance standing next to the rock Alto had picked out for himself. Though Alto was sitting, Kaimbe still towered over him. A mass of muscle that radiated heat in the early morning chill.
Kaimbe’s biker boot nudged the fragmented body at his feet. A mangled thing of torn flesh and bone beyond recognition. Limbs hanging on by the remnants of whatever they’d been wearing, bent at odd, unnatural angles.
Breakfast.
Alto’s dark gaze flicked to the movement, his brother’s deep voice breaking through his attempts to ignore him. “… hate moving. Especially since we just got here.” The tail end of an argument they’d had hundreds of times.
A corner of Alto’s mouth lifted in a snarl though he made no noise, wrapping his arms around his slender middle as though cold. He was anything but. “We have to move, Kaimbe, because you keep killing locals.” They both glanced at the body in front of them, draped across the rocks like some macabre display.
“I didn’t know she was local,” Kaimbe shrugged, nudging the arm with the toe of his boot. Utterly unrepentant, more bored.
“This is not the first one, Kaimbe,” Alto snipped, side-eyeing the taller man. “Or the second. Or the third.” Before he could keep counting, Kaimbe uncrossed his arms to wave dismissively.
“You’re no fun. What happened to hunting with me?”
“Time,” Alto answered. “And technology.” Excuses, mostly. The siren simply didn’t have the same predatory drive as his more monstrous brother. “And I never claimed to be fun.”
Kaimbe sighed, the sound exaggerated, as he crossed his arms once more. “Fine.”
As though there were any other option or he had any say in the matter. Alto glanced at him. “Go pack.” Kaimbe scowled, the expression one that would make most cower. Alto just watched until Kaimbe turned and walked up the beach and into the fog. Leaving him alone with the tattered remains of whomever had been unfortunate enough to be out on the water. He’d need to get rid of it properly. Clean up after Kaimbe again.
He slipped off his boots and slid off the chill stone, making an unhappy noise in the back of his throat while he shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Alto’s pants followed. He didn’t want to get any of his clothes wet. He was quick to tie his long white hair back before leaning down to grab ahold of a leg that seemed more or less attached. It required no effort for the slender siren to drag the body toward the water, where he’d spend the rest of he morning scattering it around the ocean.

Alto

Kaimbe